


In A Wonderland They Lie

by bimichaelburnham (etherealqueendom)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 09:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherealqueendom/pseuds/bimichaelburnham
Summary: “Come cuddle.”Sometimes Tilly also found herself plagued by nightmares, Michael supposed that was the price of war.





	In A Wonderland They Lie

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a prompt and was first posted on Tumblr. After months of it being published I realized Tumblr messed up the formatting and since it was posted as an answer to an ask, I can't correct it. Because of this, I decided to clean it up a bit and post it here as well.

  Michael could tell by everyone’s faces that sleep was hard to come by on the ship. The war against the Klingon Empire kept them awake as much as the war within themselves. She dreaded the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Nighttime had become another enemy. Fears she’d once tamed came back to haunt her. The dark crept in with stealth, uninvited and overwhelming. It was a silent threat with no weakness but the light, a bearer of poisonous gifts: memories, pain and regrets, all of which never failed to torment. It was ominous and vindictive in the way it could make her feel as though she was drowning and chocking at the same time. The light was nothing but a temporary reprieve, pushing the darkness to retreat in somber corners and, often, inside of Michael's own mind.

  The thoughts became darker, the pain as vivid and excruciating as fire burning her skin yet it left no marks behind. The regrets of the actions that lead to this war clung to her mind, always demanding to be heard, deafening in their loudness, blinding in their intensity. Many times, she’d awoke disoriented, the saltiness of tears and sweat on her upper lip making her sick to her stomach. She’d endure, in silence, too afraid to move and wake up Tilly. Too afraid to soil her with the darkness she felt soaked in.

  She remembered the way Amanda used to hold her tight to keep the nightmares at bay. She used to hug her close and whisper soothing words: a verse from a poem, a few lines from _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ , things Michael did not particularly care for. She wished to be Vulcan, to distance herself from her humanity. She let her mind bend to the Vulcan teachings and in it found the freedom to choose not to feel pain.

  Pain was human.

  As the war raged on, as the difficult decisions became more difficult to make and handle, Tilly’s jovial mood soured. Her outbursts of joy, her litanies of jumbled words and the bright smiles became few and far between.

  “Are you asleep?” Tilly’s voice was just a whisper but to Michael, in the suffocating silence of the night it felt like thunder piercing through the summer sky. Loud and unexpected.

  “I am not.” She could hear Tilly turning around in her bed no doubt to face her, so she did the same out of politeness.

  “Come cuddle.”

  Sometimes Tilly also found herself plagued by nightmares, Michael supposed that was the price of war. When such was the case, Tilly sought comfort in Michael, established shelter in her arms and held onto her as if scared she'd disappear if she were to let go. There were no hesitation on Michael’s part. In a few strides she found herself next to Tilly’s bed gesturing for her to scoot over so she could join her.

  Somewhere along the way, their friendship outgrew its platonic bounds. It begun with small touches, foreign but welcomed to Michael. Oh, how Sylvia Tilly loved to touch her. Reassuring hands holding onto hers in sickbay, a light kick under the table to remind her not to be rude, the brushing of a finger against her skin to ground her in the moment. If Ash had been a tether then Tilly was an anchor.

  Michael had wished to reciprocate the gestures without feeling so self-conscious, so painfully aware of the meaning such things could hold in the Vulcan culture while remaining unimportant to a Human. At the time, an unsure hand on the shoulder was all Michael could bring herself to offer as comfort. 

  In the rare moments of stillness when a feeble sense of peace overcame her, Michael found herself wanting to reciprocate the comforting touches Tilly had taken upon herself to give her. Then, an unsure hand on the shoulder became steadier as she grew more confident in the way she allowed herself to demonstrate her affection. Sometimes she just wanted to make sure Tilly was real, present, proof that what she clumsily permitted herself to feel was true. Most times though, she needed the contact because now she understood the human need to touch the ones you loved.

  To hug.

  To kiss.

  To hold.

  To heal.


End file.
